Evil Angel
by TactfulTourniquet
Summary: "Everything I had down there, was you. Why should I have broken you? I just want you back. Back in the cage." - Story plays around Season 7, plot will be changed. How? Take a look and you might find out
1. Infernal Awakening

_Deadly silence has spread, billows like an unspoken omen in the atmosphere and fills every pore of my sweaty body with foreboding of what is coming. _

_The air shimmers with heat, envelops like a steaming towel on my burned face. _  
_I blink, dare me to slowly slid from the dark, forgiving custody of sleep, but after a few seconds I am aware of where I am. Still am. _

_A foul-smelling mixture of sulfur, poison and smoke befalls my exposed wounds, I can only express a painful hiss to make my agony known. _

_For more I am currently not able. _  
_My tongue has been cut off by Michael with a razor blade a few hours ago._

_The stump in my mouth makes me sick, I try not to think of it at all. Chains wrap around my wrists, scratch in my naked, wounded flesh so that narrow rivulets of warm blood bubble over my arms. They fall with a snapping, final noise to the floor, crackling like coal sparks do in a chimney fire. _  
_I lift my eyelids, let my gaze wander around the room, although I could have drawn every single inch of this forsaken place on a piece of paper easily. _

_Lucifer's cage has no lattice rods, as the vast majority could have been thinking. _  
_When I think about it, so the cage does not even have a self-contained terrain. I must know best, after all I've already tried on numerous occasions to break out here, but I am never got very far, no matter how many miles of trails I covered it well. _

_There is no limit delineated, no gorge, no locked output at which I could shake. The land is always the same, dry, rocky and barren, adorned with occasional streams of dark blood. I saw torn limbs of victims swim there once. _  
_It took decades before I fully realized that there is no escape. No escape from hell or my fate. _  
_How could I? I have chosen on my own. It's my fault. Always my fault._

_This existence, where death is redemption and a bullet in the forehead means mercy. All I would accept now if it was only fast and clean. _  
_God, when will this be over ... have I not already suffered enough? _

_"Well, Sam? How are we today?"_

_Apparently not, I suppose. _

_I suppress the urge to turn my head abruptly to the source of the voice that has become horribly familiar to me within this eternity. _  
_Even the sarcasm, the sprayed, sadistic streak reflected in every single syllable has almost become a habit. _

_And, to my own shame, I even feel a twinge of relief when I hear this voice, this gentle, relentless baritone. _

_At least I can therefore exclude the possibility that it is Michael. _  
_In an irritating way I've learned to appreciate the company of the devil more than the holy Archangel's in this endless torture chamber, crazy but true. _  
_I also get selected appetizers of Lucifer's insidious torment, but at least he does not violate my body. _  
_Just my soul ... and he is very inventive, to my chagrin. _

_I hear Lucifer's annoyed snort because I don't let follow reaction to his words. Typically, he hates to be ignored. I know that, there had often enough can try what I one or the other torn ear has introduced ... _

_The steady beat of his steps forces itself upon me, as he moves toward me. _  
_Limply I allow two cold fingers rest under my chin and raise it almost gently. _

_My eyes combine with icy waters, melting like boiling oil into my corona._

_The term in them is indefinable, no sensation seems to glint in them, not even disgust. _  
_"Ah, he has you already removed your tongue, hasn't he? My fault, dear." Lucifer says in mild surprise when he realizes my dilemma, raises his other hand and places it on my cheek, stroking his thumb over the soft skin, battered by burns of third-degree._

_"Shhh, Sammy. It will be over quickly, okay? Michael is impatient today." _

_Instantly I feel a tremor running through my body. _  
_It always occurs as soon as this man touches me or talks to me, whispers in this soothing, lulling tone that wants me to seduce into a false state of security, throwing me on the ground of reality even harder than before, leaving me sobbing and pleading and crying for death._  
_Yes, this man ... no, this __**monster**__ has plowed my soul like a field a thousand times, smashed it to pieces and built them up again, just for fun. _

_But I hate him and for what he letshappen mutely, even though he knows exactly what his big brother does to me. _  
_Paradoxically, I even hate him for healing me afterwards, regenerating my tongue and all other wounds and injuries. I feel like a fresh victim, prepared for the championship. _

_"You don't hate me, Sam. The whole situation is unpleasant to you, that's all."_

_I curse inwardly. _  
_Again. I forgot it again!_

_"Hold on. Out of my mind, bastard!" I shout, hesitantly taking use of my newly acquired tongue. It feels surprisingly numb when it tips against my teeth _  
_The devil laughs softly, seems amused because of my rage, the frustrating loose beneath. _

_Bastard. Asshole. Son of a bitch. The list of my curses is endless. Dean would have been proud._

_Dean… _

_"Oh Sammy, still so rebellious?"_

_He gives me an extensive screening, evaluating the healed, smooth skin, the bare flesh. I must divulge this without my agreement while he touches my chest with his fingertips, exploring the muscles underneath that emerge with each breath I take, until he comes to my face, which is framed by my chin-length hair on both sides. _  
_Now it seems like I'm alive and well, immune to any procedure given to me. _  
_But the truth is that nothing has changed. _  
_I am and remain a prisoner, who is at the mercy of his jailers. _  
_I am helpless, fragile ... God, how I hate the way my thoughts lead me. _

_But the longer the devil stares at me, the easier such thoughts seem to creep up in me and gnaw at my senses. I bet he plants them intentionally in my mind. _  
_And as if that was not enough to make me mad, but I really wonder what Satan probably now like to think about this portrait, his gaze resting on me. _  
_Fine, he doesn't want to gloat. The telltale sparkle in his eyes is missing. _

_I really can't see any emotion in them, neither sorrow, nor hate, nor loathing. _  
_He has even managed to copy Nick's facual (human!) expressions once, pretend to wear a stupid mask of feigned compassion when he spoke to me in the upper world. _  
_Now he seems to have forgotten this too, but well, he doesn't need it here, does he? _

_Why had __**I**__ to be this guy offering him the perfect cover? _  
_Why not someone else !? _  
_I ask myself again and again, but I find no answer, usually the pain prevents me from summarizing clear lines of thought. _  
_The angels, his brothers and he himself have indeed said, I'd be deceptively similar to him, the devil. Our our essence, our career and our ideals would apply to each other. _  
_But I've never believed it, it was just foolish chatter for me. _

_I mean, several Millenia of era apart, two different races, he, the most evil person ever and me of all people shall be like him !? _  
_Although I accepted that I have a dark side caused by the demon blood… but that it could be THAT bad, I would have never guessed, believe me. _

_"Do you know whom you remind me of in this condition?"_

_Lucifer leans closer to me, so that cool breath touches my earlobe. I don't answer, so he continues with his story. _

_"You remind me of myself, after I had freshly fallen. I was vulnerable, tortured and left alone - but you're not alone, Sam. I'm with you. For all eternity. My poor boy." _

_The treacherous, comforting sound of his voice flows like sweet poison, biting into my ear, sets and reverberates in my skull, a smirking echo that goes round and round. _  
_I would almost laugh if I had been inclined to such macabre jokes today. _  
_He starts again. _  
_The same old story he applied on earth to corrupt my mind. _  
_Back when he was inside me ... _

_"Do me a favor and kill me for once and for all." I gasp. "Tear my soul to shreds, trample on them, eat them, I don't care just put an end to this! I'm tired of playing Michael's punching bag. You should understand best." _  
_For a brief moment slight anger flickers in Lucifer's view, but lies down as quickly as it came. _  
_Nevertheless, I have probably hit a weak point. All right. I hope it does hurt awfully. _

_"No." he replies simply, any unconcern missing in his words. "I would only punish myself with that. In addition, it would be so terribly lonely here without you. My brother and I would remain silent for ages."_

_He is suddenly so close to me that I can feel his breath surge against my lips. Only a few inches separate our faces from each other. _  
_What does he intend to do now that? Certainly nothing worth striving for. _

_I don't know what he means with that part of self-punishment, let alone the loneliness, but in my opinion it's a farce anyway. A method to confuse me._

_Although he practically vowed not to lie to me – well, who could dumb enough to trust the devil? _

_Because if he is actually serious, I have little use for it anyway._

_Suddenly I feel the presence of another individual who is moving towards us. I clench my teeth._  
_This aura is unmistakable. Powerful and intimidating, even in hell. _  
_It ... no, he is very close. _  
_Lucifer seems to suspect it too, because before I bring a blink into existence, Satan appears several feet away from me. _

_"Oh, has my toy awoken? "_  
_  
__The temperature of the room rises by several hundred degrees, at least it feels for me that eay while my chest crouches in horror and I must watch Michael enter. _  
_This extends relish, so that his bones crack, Lucifer nods briefly before he, his fiancée victims, gives me any attention. _

_"Hello, Sam. Ready for pain?"_

_Each syllable depends on a buzzing vibration, soaked in diabolical anticipation, sinister revenge. _

_Oh, damn it. _

_I swallow, my throat is dry. _  
_Since we are here, Michael and Lucifer have apparently decided to convene a mutual ceasefire to me to break me both systematically by mutual agreement, be it on a physical or psychological level. _  
_I think Michael's intentions include mainly the unpardonable crime in his eyes, that I have drawn him into the cage. Lucifer's frustration because of the failed apocalypse and his second imprisonment is added to my doom. _

_Whistling, the Archangel moves to a wide-ranged display of torture instruments, weapons and caustic substances, selecting a small ax that is doing well in his hand. I can see how the flickering of the flames is reflected in it's steel. _  
_I am sick to the stomach._

_"Don't you want a piece, brother?" He asks without looking up, grinning smugly. "It relaxes so wonderfully, you should try it out yourself." _

_The ... offer is addressed to Lucifer, but he puts him of, to my honest surprise. _

_"No interest. I consider myself preferring to dismember his mind. That will be more fun." _

_His mouth is promoting a light smile, but it doesn't look right somehow. Well, nevermind._  
_Of course, to torture my soul is his privilege alone. This bastard needs nothing else to amuse himself._  
_Michael gets ... the leftovers. _

_He raises an eyebrow, but shrugs his shoulders. _  
_"It's your choice." me he says before he turns his attention to me again. _  
_Instinctively, every muscle in my body tenses._

_I'm fucked._

_By the way, I know that Adam has to be here somewhere, but I have not seen him the whole time. _  
_Michael seems to deliberately hide him from me, and even from Lucifer. _  
_God knows what he is doing with him ... but I hope he shows at least some mercy, after all my brother has done everything right. He served him as his vessel._  
_I know there is there no hope for me. There never was… _

_Like mad I pull on my chains, as I've done many times before, a stupid reflex, rooted in my nature. _  
_It doesn't help. It never helps. I am at his mercy, unable to escape. _  
_Panicking, my eyes flit back and forth, my breath turns out in hectic waves, my pulse beats in lost coordination. _

_Pure adrenaline, caused by bitter fear and despair, pumps through my veins. _  
_Michael proceeds to move towards me slowly, the cleaver waving at his side in a semicircle. _  
_I'm already aware of what is about to happen. It has happened many times. So often that I lost count and what is worth a number when it threatens to drift into eternity? _  
_My body refuses to get used to unbearable burning, infinite and cruel, bloody spectacle._

_In my despair I finally turn my face to the point, where Lucifer stands. _

_He shoved his hands in his pockets, his gaze rests on the ground, wrapping himself in unusual passivity. _  
_ My mouth opens and I hate every second more for the words that dissipate, but can not stop. _

_Even Dean has yielded in the end because he could not take it anymore. _  
_Why should I be the heroic exception then? _

_"Help me! I'll do anything, ANYTHING just don't let him –" _

_The last part of my sentence remains abruptly in my throat, knowledge paralyzling my tongue. _  
_An incredulous laugh almost torments up my throat, but I suppress it, let it fall silent before it hovers in the steaming air. _

_So that's what hell has made of me. _

_Now I'm begging the devil for mercy, while an angel sinks sharpened iron in my lower abdomen. _

_A cry escapes, the known taste of bittersweet metal flushes down my tongue, blood paves its way through my mouth, running down my lips. _  
_The pain is indescribable, tears come into my eyes, I can not hold them back. _  
_But I still won't let go of Lucifer, staring steadily at him although my view gets more and more blurred, while Michael swings back several times and the sickening smacking of my severed flesh echoes through the air. _  
_Lucifer doesn't give me a single glance, no second our eyes do cross. _  
_It seems almost as if he's not concerned, as he would want to anonymize during Michael's work. _

_Why? _

_I__ don't understand. _  
_I don't understand why the hell he doesn't graze my torments, doesn't refresh on my cries as his brother does it with inexhaustible joy. _  
_I do not understand why Satan himself denies eye contact, a contact he once sought continuously on earth, when we met for the first time. _

_Although, the mere memory of it seems to be eons ago. _

_"Lucifer! "_

_The name dwells on my lips like a mantra, overlapping with blood. It is a requirement of death devotees, those who are inevitably dying and mutter one last prayer. It's ridiculous, but he is mine._

_"Lucifer, look at me!"_

_He shall watch me, if he already does nothing to prevent it. It may sound cheeky, but he owes me this. He OWES me._  
_But Lucifer refuses to help me. He's useless._

_Not really worth mentioning, finally, he always had an allergic reaction to commands, hadn't he? _

_Instead, he simply turns around and goes, disappearing silently into the nearest wall, dividing for him without a sound. _  
_I still call after him, even when the devil has completely vanished in the nameless expanses of our prison. _  
_I call, call with fervor, hatred, grief and doubt, because my voice is the only thing I have somewhat under control._

_And because he of all, Satan himself, is the only one who could save me from my misery, if he had wished so. If he - _

_My call only terminates when Michael strikes out for the final act and the blunt edge of the ax buries itself across my chest. _  
_He pulls out a big piece of my right lung, so that blood gushes and I feel how I suffocate slowly. A few minutes later my head bagges to the side, _  
_blood clots in my windpipe. _

_I've seen enough dead in my former life, to say with certainty that my eyes have the same shimmer like milky glass now. Looking at a place, far from heaven, hell and earth. _

_Before I take the last, rattling breath, I think about Lucifer returning in a few hours to call me back to life, using a touch and a flimsy, enigmatic remark to realize his own mental torture variant with me in visually stunning action._  
_He once promised not to hurt me. Never. _  
_And by God, he doesn't. _  
_At least not in the way how to cause injuries in general. _  
_Souls pose no visible wounds. _

_But hey, why should he make this effort? _

_Michael is too willing to accept the brutal part that breaks my bones, shreds my flesh and rips my vocal chords. _  
_He is never tired. He'll never be. Angels know no sleep. _

_What happens inside the cage is based on a continuous loop, a loop, I cannot escape no matter how much I might fight it. _  
_Because the grids are locked and no one will ever be capable to save and carry me out._

_I'm trapped. Forever. _  
_But at least Lucifer is right. _

_I am not alone. _  
_I'll never be alone. _

_Never again._

* * *

Hey :)

Hope you liked the prologue^^ Any comments?

Greets,

RoseofBrisingr


	2. Uninvited Guest

Pure terror makes me sit up straight in bed, ripping my eyelids apart to clear my view and breath in sharply.

Rushed I look around me, contort my neck, only to sink back in the soft mattress again, a small wave of relief washing over me, because contrary to my expectations, not the sulphurous atmosphere of the hell hovers over me, but the outlines of a traditionally furnished hotel room.

I confess, never before have I been so glad at the sight of a hideous cloud wallpaper and a painting of a ship from the 15th century, hanging in the back of the room.

I'm drenched in sweat, my heart is pounding in my ears.  
My mouth is open, panting, but no sound escapes my throat.  
Only the heavy, frantic breathing, wrestling out of my chest, accompanied by the chirping of crickets. It penetrates the hotel room from outside.

The bright light of the moon wanders through the window, breaking on the mirror, standing opposite me on the wall. I can see my dark silhouette in it, how shockingly pale one half of my face forms in the gloom. Immediately the appearance of freshly gnawed bones comes to my mind ... urgh, this comparison alone shows how strong the aftermath of the previous scenarios influences my damaged brain.  
But I also see that my thoughts were not the only ones that were apparently _minced_.

A silent scream is painted on my face, a trembling body, shiny skin, wet from salty-aqueous beads, a wild look in my dilated pupils – everything the nightmare has left of me.

Yes, a nightmare.  
Thank goodness it was just a fucking ...

I press my lips together without doing anything, clench my teeth so hard that my jaw hurts, embed my head on the pillow again, trying to calm myself down even though my pulse bounces like a jackhammer against my skin.  
Slowly.  
Very, very slowly, my body vaguely relaxes vague dissipating the cramped muscles in arms and legs.

This has to stop. I don't know how to do it, but it has to stop.  
I am back.  
I constantly repeat this fact silently to prevent me from losing my mind.  
I'm back, I'm with Dean, my friends, on earth. It's over. Hell and everything that happened to me there, are past.

For that alone, for this priceless gift, I should be grateful, happy, wake up every day with a wide, completely idiotic grin.  
I should take Dean into my arms, pulling him so close to me until he complaines panting about not being able to breathe, that I would cut off his air supply.

... Okay, sometimes I really do that.  
On principle.  
Even though my great, stoic brother is all too happy to provide a sarcastic remark everytime I feel _cuddly _, just tomaintain the facade of his cool image.  
What an idiot.

But why am I angry about it at all?  
I should have get used to it by now. He has never changed in all these years.

That's just his way of signaling me that he is overwhelmed with these small raids of emotion.  
I know him well enough to know that he's also worried when he notices an _unusual behavior_ on me.

He had also noticed a similar _unusual behavior_ shortly after Gabriel's lesson ...

Ahem, let's say it this way, it took me a while until I let him alone for more than five minutes after that. He didn't like my _stalking._

Especially when I insisted that he was not allowed to take a shower without my supervision ... hey, I've seen him slip on this wet floor and hitting the back of his head against the wall or the sink's edge about 24 times.  
Call me paranoid, but one doesn't forget these pictures easily.  
The contours of the events may indeed blur, become stale, but the emotions they leave ... now, even if I wanted to, I couldn't forget. Not really.

And yet, **he** is always concerned. **He** is always worried.

Far too many worries for my taste.

Nevertheless, when I feel the urge to close my arms around him, merely in order to prove myself that he is still alive, healthy and happy in front of me and not a flimsy illusion Lucifer planted in my brain that suddenly spits blood and starts yelling at me, telling me to have never loved me and be glad to see me rot in hell, I tell him to shut up and take it like a man.

Stop, full stop, finish! Worried or not.

He has called me FREAK so often that it should be tattooed on my forehead, so he should not be that surprised if I actually act like one there and then. And a madman whose only crime is to foster closer physical contact with his relatives, distributes at least not a public danger.

An exasperated groan wrung from me, as I ran a hand over my face, tucking a few loose strands of hair behind my ear.  
My gaze moves to the clock radio, glaring at its green glowing digits. They burn my eyes in complete innocence.  
It's three o'clock and 33 minutes in the morning  
Grumbling I lie on the side, try to close your eyes and pray to drift into a (dreamless) sleep.

Three o'clock and 33 minutes - 333.

Oh, great, if this isn't an omen going hand in hand with a macabre joke, I'll eat a broom stick and garnish the bristles with maple syrup.

Since Castiel broke the wall in my head, these nightmares haunt me every night.  
Although they also happen to blink up during the day, for a few minutes every now or for a few seconds, sometimes a whole hour or two.

But at night it's worse, even more real.  
And longer.  
Literally an eternity.

Over a hundred years I have spent in the fiery abyss.  
Seen things, experienced things and known from experience that I would not wish my worst enemy.  
Adam was not there, being captured by the archangel like a tiny, fragile throphy.  
I hope he's fine. As fine as one can be under the present circumstances, I mean.  
I have often enough yelled at Michael, asked him where he caught hold of my little brother.

Of course he gave no answer. Merely smiled. And smiled. And thrusted another butcher knife into my flesh to make me scream.

Technically, it was only me down there.  
Me, Michael and Lucifer ...

As soon as I think of his name, I feel cool fingers stroking my back in tangled patterns. A soft, almost gentle touch.  
As one would caress the plumage of a bird, knowing that a single, uncontrolled pressure poicould break the little creature's wings. At the same time I feel strange breath surge over my hair. Immediately my pulse returns to a higher, rapid rate, trying to suppress the urgent need to jump out of bed and search in my pocket for a gun.

For it's not Dean, who now goes to curb his extravagant paths and focuses his attention on a particularly sensitive area near my neck instead.  
It's not Dean, unmoving the hem of my shirt, pulling a tiny bit to the side so it's easier to reach the underlying, bare skin, while I try to stay sane feverishly and keep a clear head.  
It's not Dean, whose physical presence I feel behind me.

It's not Dean, because he is snoring a few feet away from me in the other bed, resting on his back, arms stretched out, mouth half open.

The lucky one.

Every fibre of my body is reluctant, as cold fingers purposefully put themselves in the crook of my neck, running along my collarbone.  
Several shivers roll over me, caused by fear, mixing anger and foreboding.  
I have endured many things from him, but that he now assumes the right to _grope_ _me_ !?  
He must be really desperate if he applies on such methods to gain my attention.

He still hates to be ignored.  
So I close my eyes and pretend that I would drift into a coma again, holding my breath in a deep and steady rhythm.  
Perhaps he will soon get bored of me and just go away? It's worth a try.

After an indeterminate time my plan seems to be working, because the fingers are probably tired of their inquiries, their movements slow down, halting, until they finally retire.  
I'm almost tempted to launch a sigh of relief, but only _almost._ You never know…

It's quiet, peaceful, warm.

Not a second later a surprised cry of pain escapes me, reflected in sharp fingernails digging like claws in my left shoulder blade and leaving bloody welts on my skin.

Shit! Unfortunately I underestimated for a moment what a hopeless diehard he can be when he does not get what he wants.

Like a defiant child who wants to have his toy back.  
Applying this comparison to the former _King of Hell_ sounds pretty ridiculous, even in my ears. But I can see the happy expression adornind Lucifer's face as soon as I turn around and snorting angrily by finally confirming his stubborn presence. An expression, hardly different from childish mischief.  
His mocking "Good morning Sammy. Sweet dreams?" does not diminish this impression.  
"Fuck. Off." I whisper angrily. I have to be quiet though I'd like to scream right now.

I don't want to risk that Dean opens his eyes and asks me yawning, why the hell (oh, the irony) I'm awake in the middle of the night talking to myself.  
Especially since this is the first night for a long time, in which he indulges a continuous rest.  
Mostly he isawakehoursbefore meandsometimes Icanhardlyremember, whetherhehaseverclosedan eye. And I'm actually theearly risersof us, who surfswithcoffeeandhis laptopthrough the night

...

Oh, don't mind.

The louder snoring and the creaking of the bed, while a body rolls noisily on the side, confirmes me that my brother won't wake up that soon.  
…Alright, a stone would probably have been more attentive at this moment.  
Lucifer's mouth is open, twisted into a smug smile. Only now I can comfirm his whole appearance.

He sprawls himself on the other side of the bed , just a few inches away from me. He sits in an upright posture, hands loosely clasped in his lap, legs crossed, one half of my pad in the back.  
He looks at me calmly, his blue eyes drowning in mine.  
There is a single bed, on which we find ourselves, which is why he has to move me particularly close to my body to not to fall to the ground. A condition I don't appreciate much.  
For a moment I play with the idea to give him a hearty shove and literally _push him out of bed_, but refrain ultimately.  
I know his scheme, he would simply teleport back to the mattress even before his nose could barely touch the carpet.

And if he is especially pissed off, he will certainly wangle and set all furniture of the hotel room on fire with a single finger snapping and **then** I can spend the rest of the night perforced in the bathtub.  
It may seem crazy, but even hellish hallucinations gain a certain routine allowing me to take a few steps back and regret my actions in advance.  
Speaking of hallucination, Lucifer always walks in Nick's body, however, the burns that were previously distributed everywhere on his skin have disappeared.  
A further evidence that this may not correspond to reality here.  
Even though my stupid brain wants to convince me otherwise frequently.

Lucifer slightly tilts his head, raises an accusing eyebrow, as he looks at me with an indefinable expression.

"Sam, it's very rude to tell a guest to leave who has just arrived seven minutes ago."

My answer crystallizes in a sardonic look.  
But his reaction turns out quite different, as I would have expected. He grins even wider and an expression carves in his gaze, I would have carefully considered as _mild_.

I lean a little further back, following my reflexes, clawing a hand into the soft fabric of the bedspread.  
I can not believe it.  
Paradoxically,he also seems to be fond of the hatred that sprays from my eyes whenever I see him.  
Sometimes, I'd love to throw my words at his waiting feet like stones, spit him my contempt right in his face. Let him know what I think of him if he does not already understand it anyway.

But, I think even if he would understand it ... he would still refuse to believe that I really and truly hate him. Nothing has changed even after our ... union.  
He did not believe me in hell, therefore he doesn't want to believe me within my visions either, for any reason whatsoever.  
Finally, he is only a poor imitation of the satan I met on earth, and not comparable to… the lower level.

All the suffering that I have seen there.  
The torture, the pain, the screams, the smell of burning flesh ...

Enough.

That was long ago.  
I am not in the cage anymore.  
My arms are not wrapped in chains and welded to the ceiling. I am free, I can defend myself, speak without being dependent on his healing abilities.  
But ... why do I still feel so awful, so inferior when I come across this blue eyes?  
Eyes that know no mercy.  
Neither for himself nor for other living beings.

"Oh please Sam, we both know that's not quite true." the devil says, suddenly harboring a serious tone in his voice. He has switched from teasing to a hard and cold sound.  
"I've done more for you down there than you want to admit!"

I blink in surprise. I should really learn to keep my thoughts in check when he is near me. These angel abilities are goddamn annoying.  
Lucifer has lost his mocking smile. His mouth has slumped down, his aura has retired a bit.  
Instead, he presents me an expression that reminds me of disappointment.

I should know it best, I have often seen disappointment on Dean's face when he looked at me.

I quickly lower my gaze, shake my head. Okay, enough is enough.  
I just want to give him an unflattering response but, however, I pause right in the first sentence.

Lucifer is gone like the wind. I can't feel his presence anymore.

I frantically turn around.  
Yes, gone. Disappeared without a trace, vanished into thin air, just like that.

Sighing, I let myself sink back on the pillow the third time that night, clench my hands into fists and press them against my closed eyelids.  
The light approach of migraine is coming up and I wring exasperated groan from my lungs.

What can I say?  
The devil is and remains a moody bastard.

And I actually used to think, I would be rid of him forever, my life could continue my life as it was before.  
But then the wall was broken and before I could arrange some extent with the painfully familiar scenarios of the cage, he showed up and I just thought: Damn ... cheered too soon.  
But when I look at it more closely, I should have known anyway.  
After all, he is probably the _number one _person I think of when somebody says something about hell.

... Wait a minute, stop.

If this really was the case, Michael would pay me a visit too somewhen, right?  
Eww, disgusting idea.

Although ... maybe I have not spent enough time with him, so that he is able to ascend as a fixed part of my hallucinations?  
That would be at least a tiny light at the end of the horizon, overrun by storm clouds and lightning.  
A former Archangel in my head is already bad enough. _Two_ would be… unbearable.

Pondering I fold my arms behind my head and stare at the ceiling.  
Sleep? Kiss my ass!  
Incredibly, now that I am actually _startled_ by that bastard!

It's simple.  
Lucifer plays with me. With my memories, my mind, my life ... he loves to play. For me, _with_ me, inside and outside me.  
Of course I know what _event_ he meant.  
The aftermath of the ruined wall includes the fact that I remember EVERYTHING now, all what happened at that time in the cage.

This therefore includes a dispute in particular, one Michael and Lucifer once had.  
All because of me.  
Or rather, because of my soul.

How could I not remember?

Ultimatley, the rest of my hellish existence was based on the outcome of this dispute.

A turning point from which I can not say until today whether it has diminished or even exacerbated my punishment afterwards.

* * *

Well well, what will happen next? How is Sam going to cope with dear Lucifer/Hallucifer in the following days? Find it out!

Faves will sing Sam spanish lullabies to put him to sleep and comments will give him devilish kisses on his neck while he flinches in his dreams.


	3. the Red One

"Lucifer, I'll only tell you this once." says Michael with a threatening undertone.

Prompting he stretches out his hand, his eyes fixed constantly enraged at his opponent.  
"Give him to me. Now." he demands, his voice sharp as glass.

One notices immediately the security in this and the upright, relaxed posture of his body, it is not strange for him to give orders.

Why should he?

Ultimately, he is the first angel that God has ever created.  
The firstborn, if you want to call it that way.

When Lucifer was in my body, he told me, more or less voluntarily, reveals that angels were primarily created for the purpose to obey. Warriors without significant self-determination or potential veto.  
Based on this information, Michael has probably assumed from the beginning to give commands and fulfill commands. I only have a limited idea of how many millennia he currently counts to his lifespan.

But hey, the passing of time is not a significant issue for immortals, I think.  
All I can think of is how many times he must have already pronounced the command **to murder** within these millennia.

Very, VERY often, I guess. Until it has become a routine part of his life.

Nevertheless. For me, the current development of events is a damn strange, unusual situation.  
Finally, one won't be often separated of his fleshly existence by a random finger snapping and repealed in the form of a glowing sphere that turns out to be the ordinary appearance of my soul, AND be ironically safe while Lucifer is keeping me in his arms.

I mean, seriously, who would have ever thought that I would be honestly grateful to be in the arms of the devil some day? As I know him ... well, at least it provides distance between his older brother and me.

Want to know what happened right now?

Well, it's just that Castiel showed up here a few minutes ago, in his usual suit and trench coat and the stoic expression on his face and DAMN, I've been pretty surprised as some could think of.  
Not necessarily because of the fact that he had seemed to make it easily into the cage, but because I wrestled with that it would be a little too early for Lucifer's hallucinary torture.

Yes, you've read correctly.

Because in the first moment I did not believe for a single second that the shape of this angel could be real.

If my sense of time serves me right, I am captured for a few months here.  
During these months it has become questionable whether the reality of hell can be distinguished from illusion at all.

Sometimes I believe I'd see Dean how he stands in the corner and disappointedly shakes his head, while Michael carries out his bloody work upon me.  
Other times, Jess shoots a bullet in her head a few meters away from me right after she told me in tears that her death was my fault, because I had left my family and so made Azazel notice and eliminate her.  
I was an egoist, ran away.  
Shehad to pay with her life.

Hm, only a few examples where loved ones die in front of my eyes.

I long tried to fight it, yelled at them or asked for forgiveness. Somehow they're right, even if they are only illusions.  
Their blood is on my hands, whether I swang the weapon myself or not.  
Anyone who has ever come in contact with me is cursed.  
Jess, Dean, Bobby, Castiel ... because **I'm** cursed.  
Because I'm a monster.

Michael represents the same opinion and thereby justifies all the pain he inflicts on me.  
'_Since I had demon blood flowing through my veins, I was no longer a real man, but a parasite, necessary to be extinguished_. '

Well, these are **his**words.

Although his line of reasoning goes much longer, in the end it always runs out on this universal justification.  
Thus, he does not act against the instructions of God, who commanded him to protect the human race and not kill it.  
As Lucifer took a few hours one day forward my, he dragged his brother's words against my will from my memories and ranted about how amateurish Michael rightly Böge her father's will after his own liking.

He has even shown feelings. Anger and contempt.

But I am not so naive as to believe that he actually directed this anger against his brother and possibly in my favor.  
Solely the reason for his action displeased him, not the action itself.

Although, frankly even I'm not very clear about that.

What has mainly to do with the current situation, I am trying to portray since the beginning of this story.  
Well, I somewhat drifted away, but in my defense, my brain had better times working. Before it was shot through a meat grinder, of course.  
Yes, I am no longer able to deny it.  
Who am I kidding?  
Hell, Michael, Lucifer - they all sap my strength, suck me up. Your methodology proposes to slow ...

And now, yet to all my evil defiance, Castiel has (now I've come to terms with the fact that it must have been REALLY the _real_Castiel) stole my body.

Smiling. And then gone within a second.

My first thought: **Asshole! **  
My second thought: **Oh shit!**

Very enlightening, I know.

To make it short, I'm now no more than a harmless swirling ball of fluorescent, decorative light, defenseless against the alleged cockfight of two mighty Archangels... seriously, what have I done to deserve this?

Minutes have passed since Michael has strongly advised Lucifer to hand me over to him, or rather what is left of me.  
The second pull is tough here in hell, personally, it is as decades would pave through the air, while the two upright figures are staring intently at each other.

Lucifer presses me close to his chest, making my whole matter tremble.  
Without the barrier of skin, flesh and bone I sense his cool nature on a universal level and I can not help but to imagine myself immersed in a glacial lake.  
I am still inconceivable of how fast the two have suddenly appeared out of nowhere.  
Before my lugged out soul could touch the ground, the devil had grabbed me and pulled me in before his brother could jump after me.  
Speaking of Michael, he seems to be the impatient type, because the blue of his eyes practically glows up with every second that passes away carelessly.

Finally, Lucifer decides to raise his voice.

"No."

A single word. Calm, composed and pronounced in immovable security.

Michael seems surprised. I cannot blame him.  
I share his astonishment without ceasing.  
Never before it has happened that Lucifer has resisted his brother's orders. Not since my arrival in the cage.  
Usuallytheir interests drive on a straight route.

"You had your revenge. I have done nothing when you cut his body. I can fix him anytime I want." he tells him undeterred though I'd love to raise an objection (that hurts!), but my vocal cords have been vanished with my body. Since speaking is just impossible now, I have to listen to the sentences of Satan.  
After all, I have no other choice.

"But his soul belongs to me. Vent your frustration on your own vessel." Lucifer finally ends bleakly.

Michael twitches involuntarily while his brother mentions Adam.  
Just a moment, barely a blink worth the crumbling facade brutal, but I recognize it anyway. _Why?_  
Damn, I want to know what he did to Adam what makes him look so uncomfortable !**  
**I dare not even to imagine ...  
But Michael sums up again rapidly, renews his mask without difficulty.  
He even brings about a mocking smile.

"Brother," hebegins,conjuringthesound of hisvoice,reminiscent ofsilk. "Ifyou loveitthat muchtokeepthehairlessmonkeyfor yourself, then why don't we play a little game? Like in our childhood? "

Before I know what he means, I'm on the hell ground, in the approximate middle of the line which separates the two brothers from each other.  
I scream as the heat of the soil threatens to cauterize my matter.  
Before me stays Michael, smiling still unchanged. I can hear Lucifer snorting behind my back.

"Still after Dad's rules, isn't it?" he snaps contemptuously, I can almost taste the bitterness in his tone. "I'm concerned, we have the people's free will again."

He spits the words out as if they were poison, but Michael nods graciously.  
Then he looks to me and I can feel how Lucifer turns his expectant gaze on me as well.

Suddenly I become aware what they ask of me here. They want me to decide about my own ruin.  
My body is gone and one soul can not be divided into two halves.  
It is as if two children were fighting over a new toy.  
I mean come on, these angels are almost older than time itself!  
So, what can I say? I have come from bad to worse.

I hesitate.  
Hesitate long.

I'm so terribly nervous in this moment!  
This is a turning point and I know it. I'm going into the wrong direction, no return offered.  
But is there in hell a wrong and a right way at all? Do not both lead to the same thing?  
No matter what I do, my place inevitably remains in the inferno.  
Forever. No output, no end.

I am not exaggerating when I say that I find myself here in a rather precarious situation.

Lucifer is torturing me. With mental mumbo jumbo.  
Michael will torture me too. With iron, fire and sling.  
Both versions do not offer me a paradise to be true.  
My choice falls on the'** less' **evil person in my position. The one I still dare to endure in some degree.

I carefully collect all my remaining concentration, using sheer willpower to transport me a few inches to the rear, joining the devil side.

I choose **him**.

Michael's facial features melt in disgust. Hah! He can hardly believe it.  
Lucifer's triumphant grin on the other hand pierces literally in my backside.

I know it's crazy, choosing Satan when an angel is waiting on the other side.  
I have never claimed **not** to be crazy.  
Furthermore, I consider myself to no false hopes regarding the outcome of my decision.  
It will not be pretty. It never was.

However ... more torture periods with Michael I won't be able to endure anymore.

Abruptly my field of vision blurs in front of me, congeals to a silhouette, which dissolves to softly melting butter by a finger snapping Lucifer.  
But not only he is the one disappearing, the whole environment poses itself in impenetrable blackness. I feel like the dark takes me once again, this time probably with the intention of not letting go.  
I feel dizzy, seem to be close to faint within a few seconds.****

The ugly realization bites on me that I have now completely put myself in Lucifer's opportunity.  
I was not delivered to him until then, so I am now fully.

Only one question creeps into me while the cloak of darkness thins in sluggish pace, outlines in a room I've never seen before in the innards of the cage.

What is waiting for me there? 

A liberating sigh drips from my lips, while the hot spray of the shower head is washing over me.  
Believe it or not I've spent the rest of the night sitting on my bed and watching the clock, how the three remaining hours faded away.  
And I'm _still_ awake.  
Accordingly, I am so tired that if I would have allowed myself to close my eyes for five seconds, I'd probably dozed off on the spot.  
Dean is now going to Illinois, tracking a Wendigo in a small town with adjoining woodland mischief.  
I've got work too and after we've eaten together, I'll ask the family members of an old murder case some blocks away from here.  
We share the cases, so our workload is greater and our success rate is higher.

It took longer, until I convinced Dean that this would mean an increase of our efficiency by several percent, before he agreed to let us separate for short periods.  
But since Castiel has lost his mind, all supernatural beings seem to frolic like ants on a picnic blanket, what makes our individual courses inevitable.  
Although it does not particularly pleases him, especially since he is suspicious of me, as far as my constant denial of hell's aftermath tells him.

Obliviously I open my mouth, let the water drop on my tongue, rinse and enjoy this rare moment of serenity.

I have not told him that Lucifer is one of these 'broken wall effects'.

As long as I don't have to irrevocably reveal this, I won't do it in near future. Dean has beaten enough battles for me.  
But this is **my** fight.  
It is **my** brain that imposes me this already experienced scenarios.  
Dean can not help it, no matter how happily he would. Bobby is powerless, too.

**I**.  
**I** must get rid of it myself, be my own healer.

I'm gonna die either way somewhen.  
Hm, what a cheerful thought. Never thought that showers promote melancholy ...

"Such a cute butt. What a shame to cover it with ugly cloth."

An exasperated groan escapes my mouth, mostly in order to play my horror that befalls me as the sound of the familiar yet hated voice washes over me.  
This treacherous, gentle baritone, dwelling with sarcasm. I'd recognize him anywhere.  
I don't even need to turn around to assure myself about the identity of the uninvited guest.

Dean has set off five minutes ago to get our breakfast, Castiel is currently fully engaged in massacring all church leaders who ( in his opinion) spread lies about him as the new God.  
Therefore only a single person remains who could have followed me into the shower.  
I'm not a shy maid but Lucifer's shameless interest on my bare butt, as I can see it by looking in the bathroom mirror, makes me blush in furious embarassement.

Without wasting valuable time, I put off the water and angle a towel off the rack in a hasty manner, tieing it around my waist and go into the bathroom, covered by hot clouds of steam from the boiling water.  
The faint sound of footsteps in a leisurely pace is behind my back. I studiously ignore the whistling tune of "Highway to Hell".

As far as possible a look back avoidant, I move on to the small dresser, plucking drawer by drawer and look for some weather appropriate clothing.  
Nervously, I pull my fingers through my damp hair, while I lay out two jackets in front of me on the bed and look at them in detail.  
Normally, I don't think much of trendy certified by dress code, but I think it would make a quite conducive first impression, not to act and look like a complete idiot.

"You should dry up first. Otherwise small Sammy will get a cold. We don't want that, do we?"

As if I had not heard those words, I begin to get dressed.

"If I were you, I would take the red." it roars in boredom, this time close to my left side. "The green one will remind of a fir on two legs."

Ignore.  
It's easy. Ignore him.  
Just don't give in.

"Saaaaammmyyy, would you be so kind and stop ignoring me? That's not nice!"

Mutely I lace my shoes.  
Bad enough that I have to endure his presence, he also has this perfidious pleasure to talk to me and use my embarrassing _nickname_.  
As in the time we were in the cage.  
I'm spared nothing.

I look to the door, think. Suddenly the smell of burning fabric wafts up my nose.  
I turn my head. The blanket are smoldering happily.  
I discover a finely curved heart on my pillow that has been painted with soot. Two letters are written within it. With something that reminds me of fresh blood...

**_S + L _**stands there.

I take a deep breath.  
Breath in. Breath out.

That's enough.

Quickly I fish in my pocket for my little notepad, grab a piece of paper and write a short message for Dean.  
He'll need to have breakfast without me, I'll go get me a decent grub. I can't bear being in this room any longer.  
I'm almost over the threshold, as a cool breeze that sweeps against my face makes me pause.  
It's early November and already now that frost begins to creep on the window panes. It's cold.

Reluctantly, I turn around.

The two jackets are spread out motionless on the mattress, almost seem to accuse me.  
A chasm deep sigh carves its way. Oh, what the heck!  
After some hesitation, I resign myself to my fate and grab for the red jacket, before I leave the room and shut the door behind me.

The laughter that shortly turns into a muffled echo accelerates my steps several times.


End file.
